As we rode south and east on a cold, clear day, Ralph of Bowness sang as we rode down the snow-covered road. The fact that he had a new task made him happy. The song was a Varangian marching song. I recognised some of the words. The snow had stopped a frost had made the road hard, if a little slippery. We took it steadily.
Rather than being put off by the snow, Masood actually welcomed it. He kept shaking his head as he grabbed handfuls of it, “A man will never be thirsty in the country. There is always cool water to drink. In my land, there is never enough water.”
Henry son of Will laughed, “Now if it rained or snowed beer, that would be something!”
John of Chester jibed, “You would never be sober!”
Henry sniffed, “And drunk or sober have I ever failed to do my duty?”
John had to concede that he always did his duty, “But I could live without the snoring and farting when you sleep drunk!”
“That is just nature’s way of showing that I am content!”
Sir Thomas nudged his horse next to Dick and me, “I wish my father could see what I have done, lord. I think that he would be proud.”
Dick smiled at my young knight, “I knew your father and I can tell you that he would. You have achieved much. When we reach Stockton, find yourself a wife and make a son. Call him Oswald and it will be as though your father has never died.”
He laughed, “Aye, Dick, I will!”
We had thirty miles or so to go but Dick and I had decided to travel as far south as we could before turning east. We would be further away from pursuit. I wondered if Lord Alexander would dare to cross the Palatinate. It would risk angering the Bishop of Durham. I hoped that King Henry would show the Bishop that he was not like King Stephen had been. We needed a strong king to make our borders strong. We had warriors like my father to defend those borders but our enemies needed to know that the king himself was willing to take action.
We had had to move at a steady and sedate pace. There was little point in hurting our warhorses. We had already asked them to do more than they ought. The clear skies and the fact that we were moving along a Roman road made us easier to see. We had passed the bishop’s hall at Auckland and just emerged from the valley heading for the Rushy Ford over the Woodham stream when Aelric came racing back.
“Lord, there are banners ahead. You will see them soon enough.”
I knew who they were but I needed confirmation. “Scots?”
“That would be my guess lord. Sir Harold’s home is many miles to the east and Sir Phillip far to the south. It is a small garrison at Gainford for Sir Hugh is still at Barnard Castle. It is a mighty host, with many banners.”
“And they have seen us?”
“Against the white snow you stand out lord. “
“Go and fetch Masood. He can do nothing where he is.” As Aelric galloped off I looked around. There was a slight incline before us and I had seen, as the archer trotted off, that his horse found it difficult to gain purchase. “Dick, what say we make a stand here?”
“It is likely to be a last stand for they will outnumber us.”
I turned. There were trees forty paces behind us and the slope was steeper there. “If my men at arms, knights and squires block the road, our archers could use the trees for cover. I will not surrender and, who knows, Brother Peter’s God might save us.”
Ralph of Bowness said, “And the weird sisters might still have a hand in this.”
Snorting the Bishop shook his head, “And you call yourself a Christian!”
“I have seen many strange things Brother and they cannot all be explained away easily. I think it is a good plan. If we are to die then let us make them bleed eh?” Ralph would be able to fight with the good earth beneath his feet. That was the way of the housecarl.
Dick nodded, as did Sir Thomas, “Then let us go back but we will walk. I would not have us hurt our horses.”
Once we reached the trees the horses were taken into the woods and tethered. Ralph chose some of the spare spears and made a barrier to our flank. He rammed the hafts into the earth. The snow meant it was not rock hard. It would deter an enemy. Masood and Aelric rode back, “There are sixty of them lord. I recognised the banner. It is Lord Alexander. They have ten knights with banners.”
“Archers?”
He grinned, “No lord.”
“Then you two join the other archers.” I turned to Alf, “Find a prominent place and plant my banner. Let the Scots see the gryphon. They will learn to fear it as they fear my father’s sign!”
“Aye lord!” There was a drift of snow and, after piling more there, Alf jammed the banner in so that it fluttered above our heads. He packed more snow around it to make it firm.
The road was wide enough for four men. Sir Thomas, Ralph, Brother Peter and myself stood in the first rank. Stephen and Alf were in the second with spare spears. Next to them were John and Henry. The other two, Jean and Gurth, were in the third rank. They would replace the ones who fell. Brother Peter hefted the borrowed shield. He stood on the left next to Ralph. I had Sir Thomas next to me and I planted my sword in the ground. If I needed to draw it then it would be quicker. I raised my spear, “This is for the Earl of Cleveland, the Warlord of the North! If we stand firm then no one can defeat us!”
Amazingly, my men banged their spears against the shields and their swords against the trees. I had never fought such great odds but, with these men with me, we could not fail. I donned my helmet and we faced our foes.
The Scots had seen us and our numbers. Even though the trees hid my archers they would have seen them riding up the road. Even so, Lord Alexander came along confidently. He had seen but three banners. He had three times the number of knights. He had his knights arrayed in a line ten wide. All of his knights were in the front rank. Behind them came the squires. A few horsemen were behind but there did not appear to be many. Not many were mailed. Half their number were on foot.
Masood was in a tree, perched like some monkey or bird and he shouted, “Lord there is another banner and more men coming behind them. I counted forty!”
Just as I had begun to believe that we had a chance my hopes had been dashed. Sixty men we might have held, but a hundred? It would be hard. Lord Alexander made his second mistake when he was three hundred paces from us. He spurred his horse and the twenty odd horsemen began to ride faster. The ground was icy and some horses slipped and slithered. His line became ragged. A line of horse worked best when they attacked together. The speed was not important, it was the cohesion which counted. The ragged line drew within bow range.
We had only twenty-one archers but they were the finest in any land. I heard Dick roar, “Draw!”
His next command was a death sentence. “Release!”
Twenty-one arrows flew and, in the time it took to draw breath, another twenty-one flew closely followed by a third. Even while the third flight was in the air they were drawing again. The weather affected the flights but, even so, it was devastating. All twenty-one arrows hit something. Some struck shields. Others hit the rumps and flanks of horses. Some hit mail. It was only those which hit shields which did no damage. My men had arrows which were not barbed. They were intended to penetrate mail and they did so. Two knights and three squires along with two men at arms were plucked from their saddles. Six more arrows hit the men on foot who laboured up the slippery slope. The next flight was even more devastating as knights, squires and men at arms fell and failed to protect their neighbours. They had lost their cohesion and the protection of a neighbour’s shield.
Ralph snorted, “This man is a fool! I knew it when I spoke to him!”
As if to confirm his words Lord Alexander stood in his saddle and exhorted his men to ride faster. The next flights of arrows struck more men. The horses slipped and slid on the ice. Had they gone slower they might have made more progress. Lord Alexander bore a charmed life. Arrows struck his shield but did him no harm.
Our archers continued to rain death. Their rate of arrows w
ould slow but each arrow brought death or a wound to someone and that gave us hope.
Then Masood’s voice came like a crack of thunder, “Lord, more men are coming along the road from the south. I count ten banners!”
There was no point in speaking. Ten banners meant another fifty or so men at least. We had to hold on. There was no other choice. The riders had been thinned. There were now five knights and six squires labouring up the road towards us. They were not in one line. I could leave the archers to deal with the men following. We had to kill as many of these knights, squires and men at arms as we could.
“Brace and lock!” With a round shield amongst our long heart shaped shields, that would be difficult but with spears rammed against our feet and shields touching we were ready. My squires and men at arms had their spears level with ours. They lay over our shoulders to protect us from the enemy. We would have more power but it would present a barrier which horses would not like. It was not Lord Alexander who reached us first. A young lord, eager for glory, slithered and slipped towards us. Brother Peter’s spear took the horse in the throat and Ralph rammed his spear at the knight. It penetrated his chest. Horse and rider reared and fell. For the Scots, it was a disaster. The horse slipped down the slope and took out two squires and their horses as they tumbled down the slick and slippery road. Unable to protect themselves my archers’ arrows ended their lives. I thrust my spear at a second knight. I was lucky. The horse’s neck and the cantle guided the spear into the gut of the knight. He did not die immediately but, as I withdrew the intestine wrapped spear head, I knew that he was dead.
I saw Lord Alexander throw his spear at Ralph of Bowness who contemptuously batted it aside. Then stopping, the Scottish lord raised his shield and shouted, “For the glory of Scotland! On!” He was willing to let his men bleed on our spears so long as they held us and then his next two waves would finish us off.
As Sir Thomas slew another knight I began to hope that, despite the odds, we might win. From behind me I heard Dick shout, “Rear archers turn! We are attacked!”
“Jean, Henry and Gurth, turn and face the foe!” We were being attacked from two sides. It was all over.
The Scots facing us only had two knights left and six squires in their front rank. We had already killed more than I might have hoped. The ones on foot had little armour. Only one man at arms remained on a horse. However, there were reinforcements coming, even I could see the knight bringing the next wave of Scots to assail us and the banners of the third wave were a blur in the distance. We would have to endure another two bands of warriors. Could we survive? Every bone in my body thought that we were going to die.
Sir Thomas struck his spear at a knight who was eager to get to me. His spear penetrated the Scot’s thigh and his horse’s side. Even as the horse fell sideways the last knight on that flank rammed his spear towards Sir Thomas. I saw it hit his shoulder. At the same moment one of the squires reared his horse. Just as Stephen, Sir Thomas’ squire speared the horse, the Scot’s spear struck my knight in the face. The spear head went into his eye and then his skull. Watching his body fall I knew that he was dead. His squire, Stephen. was beside himself. He extracted his spear and then rammed it into the belly of the squire who had killed his master. As the spear was torn from his grasp he drew his sword and, disobeying all orders, hurled himself at the Scots. He ran at them flailing his sword like a berserker of old.
“Alf!”
We had a hole in our front rank and it needed filling. My squire stepped into the gap left by my knight and his squire. I watched Stephen as he hacked through the leg of the last man at arms. He raged like a man possessed, screaming curses, and then the men on foot fell upon poor Stephen. A spear took him in the chest and then he was butchered before our eyes. The Scots hacked and chopped at a body already dead.
The enemy were still falling to my archers’ arrows but there were fewer of their deadly missiles and they were falling more slowly. Before us was a wall of dead horses, knights and squires. The enemy would struggle to force through them. “Lord! We need help!”
Jean de les Monts did not ask for help unnecessarily. “Henry, go to their aid!”
“Aye lord!” We now had a perilously thin line to face the next attack. We would not hold against fresh warriors.
Lord Alexander seemed to bear a charmed life. His shield appeared to be covered in arrows yet he and his horse were unharmed. He was directing his men forward. He urged them to get to me! His reinforcements had reached us. I saw the next knight and his men were now pressing against the men on foot who laboured up the slope. I rammed my spear into the face of the first Scotsman on foot. It hit his unarmoured chest and, even as he died, he pulled the spear from my grasp. Alf was no longer there to pass me another and I drew my sword. I saw that only Alf still had his spear. Ralph of Bowness was swinging his axe before him and men were afraid to face him. Brother Peter was besmirched with blood and he held his sword before him. Sheer weight of numbers meant that it was only a matter of time.
One Scot, eager to take the head of a knight swung his two-handed sword wildly at me. I dropped to one knee and, as the sword slid over my head, rammed my blade into his middle. He had a surprised expression. As I rose I punched his dying body and he fell against the men ascending the slope. The blood had made the slope even slicker. I took advantage of the fact that they could not approach rapidly and I swung my sword sideways in a long sweep. I was lucky or perhaps Ralph’s Norns intervened. My sword hacked into the side of one warrior and his dying fall allowed my blade to tear across the unguarded throat of a second. Alf, Ralph and Brother Peter seemed to bear charmed lives. Perhaps it was because they were so much better than they men they faced. Whatever the reason all who came close to the four of us died. The ground before us was a sea of blood and guts. The greatest danger would be in weapons blunted by so much fighting. Each time we used a sword it became less sharp. Eventually we would be wielding iron bars. I had two daggers in my belt and right boot. If my sword would not cut then I would use a dagger. I watched as Ralph hooked his axe head around the edge of a Scot’s shield and, pulling it forward, smashed the boss of his shield into the warrior’s face. The man was rendered unconscious. As he fell to the floor, Ralph swung his axe before him and then stamped on the man’s windpipe.
Any hopes that we had a reprieve were dashed when I felt pressure on my back. It was John of Chester. “Lord, Jean de les Monts is dead and Gurth son of Garth wounded. We are hard pressed.”
“Then, this day we die, but we die with honour! No surrender!” I lifted my sword and raised it so that all men could see that it was bloody and it was notched. I was my father’s son and I would not be taken as a trophy to be paraded before the King of Scotland. They would have to hack my bloody sword from my dead hand. I would yield it to no man.
Beside me, Alf renewed his attack. His mighty strength slew two even as I brought my own blade down to smite a Scot and split his head in twain. My men all cheered and roared. I prepared to meet my maker. My father would care for my family and I had redeemed myself. It was wyrd!
Part Two
Alfraed
Chapter 8
I had thought the coronation had gone well. Henry and Eleanor had looked magnificent and there had been cheers aplenty. All of the lords present swore an oath of fealty to the King. Henry had ensured that all of the Earls, Counts and Dukes were present. He wanted no dissenting voices to mar his new reign. I was looking forward to going home and, having received word that my son, William was coming home, I was desperate to head north and to greet him.
Had I been an ordinary knight I might never have overheard the treason. I had been trained well and I had a useful ability, I could move silently. After the coronation, we had returned to the White Tower where I had been afforded accommodation. I was alone. I had not brought my squire, James and so I was heading to my chambers. I wished to change from the mail I had worn to the coronation. As I climbed the stairs I heard voices at the landing ahead and,
recognising the king’s brother, Geoffrey, speaking, I stopped. Geoffrey had attempted to abduct Eleanor when she had been travelling to meet with Henry. I had thwarted the attempt but, although he and Henry were reconciled, I did not trust him. I paused on the stairs and I listened. Many would have said that was not honourable. Where Henry was concerned I would do anything I could to keep him safe. After all, he was my son. I recognised Geoffrey’s voice. He had a sulky tone and, to my mind, whined. He had not got that from his mother and I suspected he was more like his father and grandfather. The other voice I did not recognise. It was a Norman one. The accent was clear.
“Lord, the time is right. There are many in Anjou who would support your claim. It is right that we have a Count of Anjou. Why should that not be you?”
“Do not underestimate my brother, Charles. He has the support of that devil, the Earl of Cleveland. Many men have thought that they could neutralise him but all have failed.”
“He will return home to his northern lands soon and if not then a knife in the night might end his threat. If we take ship in the next day or so then we will steal a march on everyone. We could be in Anjou. The lords there have not sworn an oath.”
“They are already bound to my brother as Count of Anjou.”
“Yet your father told you that you were to be Count. You are merely taking your birth right which was stolen from you.”
“You talk treason.”
“No, lord for the County of Anjou is your due. I do not speak for myself alone. Theobald of Blois would also support your claim!”
“Even though he held me hostage last year?”
“A mistake, lord. He would be a powerful ally. The County first and then… who knows. There are others who wish to see you rule in Anjou. Trust me, lord, to guide your path.”
There was silence and I wondered if I should move. I wondered what else I might hear.
The Welsh Marches (The Anarchy 1120-1180 Book 15) Page 9
